


the majesty of caged animals

by supernatasha



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Fan theories, Future Fic, Series Spoilers, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:23:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernatasha/pseuds/supernatasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The future of Westeros, describing the last moments of the Final Ruin.<br/>A short interlude of speculation; book spoilers and fan theories ahead.</p><p>"What will you do with a kingdom destroyed by ice in the north and charred to ash in the south? A kingdom plagued with misfortune and betrayal and disease?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	the majesty of caged animals

**Author's Note:**

> This is a quick scene that details the destruction of Westeros. Past events are mentioned. Warning again: lots of death, a suicide, book spoilers, series spoilers, fan theory spoilers?  
> The poem at the end is by Jeffrey Cranor.

 The sounds of sword fighting reached Daenerys first, before Arya and Aegon came through the doors of the throne room. Their blades whistled as they swung through the air, connecting with sharp _clangs_ and grating noises. Their breath was visible in the cold air, warm bodies in an otherwise frozen tableau.

 She watched them, not bothering to rise from the Iron Throne. There was no expression on her face, eyes unreadable. A roar sounded, one to reach every corner of King's Landing, if not all of Westeros, if not the dead Others beyond the Wall, if not the wastes that remained of most Essosi cities. The familiar rumble of Viserion breathing flames far above the city sent a shiver reverberating through Dany's body, but she suppressed it.

The child that had forsaken his Mother. The brother who rebelled and joined traitors.

Daenerys returned her attention to the battle before her. She could see well enough, even in the wavering light by a single hearth.

Arya moved as silent as a shadow, as subtle as all water dancers, yet Aegon parried every one of her strikes and thrust back with all the force fighters of Valyria favored. There was no give from either side, none faltering, no break to distinguish them apart in skill or ability. Where Arya dodged, Aegon's sword cut through empty air; where Arya attacked, Aegon blocked.

Suddenly, Arya let out a shriek and dropped to her knees. She convulsed, writhing in agony. Dany continued to stare impassively, her expression changing neither at Arya's painful howling nor at Aegon's curious gaze studying the hunched figure.

The girl had already been half dead when the last living Baratheon Bastard had gutted her direwolf. She'd ripped the blacksmith's throat out with her own teeth, the rest of the guard had told her. Since her warg's death, Arya's connection with Drogon had grown stronger. Her weakness now could only mean one thing.

From above came a thunderous roar, a wailing of death, slowly fading. Dany shut her eyes and held back threatening tears.

_Drogon. My child._

Almost casually, Aegon slipped his sword between Arya's ribs and the screeching cut off with a choked gurgle. Dany opened her eyes again just in time to see Aegon drawing his blade back from the body of the last living Stark. He drove the point through her heart, leaving her crumpled in a heap.

Only a few years ago had the usurpers, Tommen Lannister and Margery Tyrell, lain dead in the very spot by Arya's hand. Dany would have laughed had she not thought the sound would leave her throat a broken sob. A stranger looking at her would think she held no remorse or grief for what she had witnessed, but her eyes glinted just at the edge of wetness by firelight.

Aegon approached the Iron Throne, fat drops of crimson dripping from the sword. "The wolfling fought better than I've encountered before," he said. "The Faceless Men taught her well. I was beginning to think we'd go on with locked blades for centuries. You know why she fell, don't you?"

She didn't shift on the throne, kept her spine straight as she answered, "Yes. Yes, I do."

As if in response, somewhere in the distance came the sound of massive weight crashing into the ground at great speed. The throne room shook as tremors ran through the floor, an earthquake to mourn the death of the slain dragon.

Aegon let out a laugh, a single mirthless syllable. "Then you know as well as I do what is coming next."

"There is still Jon," Daenerys licked her lips, the first sign she had shown of an anxious mind.

"Ah, the rightful heir," Aegon mused. "Perhaps we could have been brothers. Once. Had I been who I was raised as."

"But instead you're a Blackfyre," she spat the word with derision and hatred, her violet eyes burning and the tips of her fingers trembling against the steel of her throne. Her voice echoed in the chambers. "Corrupted and vile blood!"

"The same blood runs in your veins," he kept his composure as he spoke, his voice smooth and unworried. Still so much pride in him, standing tall in the darkness.  "The same blood of Old Valyria. If there is a taint, it is not enough to set us apart. The dragons do not lie."

She sat back on the Iron Throne, exhausted. Her gown of Dornish silk caught on the jagged edges of metal, pulling threads and leaving runs in the fabric. It was too thin for winter, but Daenerys had never been bothered by the cold of the long winter, of the snow falling outside the stone skin of the castle. "What will you do with this throne, child?" she asked. She herself was not much older than he, but the weariness on her features belied her youth. "What will you do with a kingdom destroyed by ice in the north and charred to ash in the south? A kingdom plagued with misfortune and betrayal and disease?"

He sighed and for a moment, his voice lowered to barely above a whisper, "You still think this is about the kingdom?"

Did she? When they had fought the Others together, riding side by side through sleet and freeze, she had thought there was naught else to fight for. She had thought that the Houses of Westeros would be reunited at last, that the Winter would bring together enemies of old, that a new Age was coming. But with the death of the last child of the forest, the kingdom had finally fallen into great chaos, already being called the Final Ruin by maesters and common folk alike. Indeed, it could not be for the kingdom that war now raged, leaving tens of thousands dead in its wake.

She opened her mouth to ask, _what then? Revenge? Duty?_

But before she could go on, there came a fierce guttural sound, screeching of metal clashing against metal. Daenerys looked up just in time for her two remaining dragons to come pummeling through the ceiling. Flames rose up around them, catching the wooden walls immediately and filling the chambers with smoke. A rush of freezing air rushed in. Falling pieces of concrete sent up a cloud of dust and Dany raised both hands to shield herself from the rubble. Even Aegon stumbled back from the cacophony to avoid being struck.

The dust was slow to clear, but once it did, only one figure remained standing: the Bloodraven. Neither of the two dragons stirred and despair sent a shock down her spine. Her children had fought each other to the death. It seemed only yesterday that they had been born, hatched and mewled, grasping closer to her naked soot-covered body.

Only now did Dany's face show panic. "Where is Jon?" she demanded, standing, trying to find any sign of her nephew in the wreckage. She could not even make out the crushed body of Arya Stark under the dragons.

The Bloodraven stared at her with his single solemn eye. The empty socket seemed to burn into her. He replied, "Rhaegal threw the boy off as we fell. He must be dead."

Falling snow sizzled in the flames as they rose higher, blistering Dany's hands as she dug through the rubble. Fire had never affected her before. But now her children… Clamping down on the thought, she focused on Jon. Her last hope. "He's stronger than you think," she hissed in return. "Stronger than you. He is a Targaryen."

"Another bastard," Brynden murmured, as if he himself was any better a hero. "A Snow, nothing better than a Blackfyre or Rivers. A wolf and a dragon, you may call him, but he does not deserve the name of Targaryen."

"You must give up now," Aegon spoke from where he stood, the fire spreading behind him to tapestries on the single remaining wall still standing. It sent long shadows scurrying across the dust coated floor, over the debris and Viserion's unmoving shape, still enough to leave no doubt about his fate. 

Daenerys narrowed her eyes. "Never," she hissed. "Not for as long as I still breathe."

"Then we will have to put a stop to that," Aegon took a step forward, brandishing his sword still coated with Arya's blood.

She struggled to stay calm. "Touch me and you will die."

The last arcane greenseer glanced around the demolished throne room. Snow settled in chinks of his armor as the wind blew through the chambers. "The head of your guard lies dead, your soldiers and Noble Houses have been trampled, your _khalasar_ has been picked off slowly, your dragons are gone. Pray tell, how will we die? Has your skin become toxic to the touch?" His tone was mocking enough to infuriate her.

There was the distinctive _twang_ of a bowstring and, a moment later, Aegon grunted. Slowly, he fell forward, clutching his chest and the arrow sticking from it. The Bloodraven's whirled in a move far too graceful for his age and sought out the source. Dany and Brynden gazed upon Jon at the same moment.

He knelt just inside the broken walls of the throne room, nearly hidden from view by Rhaegal. Coated in blood, breathing shallow in the cold, Jon loosed another arrow at Brynden's heart. This one, the Bloodraven caught before it touched him. He held it and chuckled, just as Dany moved forward, grabbing Aegon's sword and driving it through Brynden's back.

The blade slid, smooth and true, through his armor and chain as if there was nothing to hinder it. Not a single sound was made but the last gasping breath of the three-eyed crow as he pitched headlong to the rubble. Even the crackling inferno now swallowing the last of the wood and the ruthless baying wind seemed to silence.

Daenerys ran to Jon, the hem of her long gown catching fire as she leaned over him. There was too much blood, the smell of burned flesh. His eyes fluttered shut.

"Stay with me, Jon," Dany pleaded. "There is no one left."

Jon only smiled as his heart stopped beating beneath her touch. Dany held him, the last of the Starks, of her brother, of her mother and father, the last of her family. He had deserved better. Snow dusted down lazily, as white as her hair, as pale as Jon's bloodless skin.

The fire on the train of her gown was unhurried as it reached the fabric at her ankle, almost an insistent tugging. Falling snow and wind did nothing to stop as it seared its way up, catching on her flowing mane of hair. She reached out and touched Rhaegal, his scales still warm to the touch, the pattern imprinting into her skin as it had once before as an egg. Heat raced across her body.

It was all over. Her children, the kingdom, the Houses supporting her or defying her, the usurpers and bastards, the pretenders, common folk, highborn or lowborn. Dany lay flat on her back and not a single star could be seen through the smoke and the clouds. She let the flames take her as they had once before, knowing this time she would not rise out of them, _khaleesi_ or queen or woman.

The snow was a hush, turning into steam that did nothing to assuage the destruction as it drifted into the fray. The wind tore down the last of the standing structure. By the time the remaining bit of stone roof crumpled down into the fire, it had become a whole blaze, a consuming pyre reaching for the sky and stretching out nearly as long as the entirety of the throne room itself. Nothing was decipherable, save for one untouched end.

The Iron Throne watched, flickering midst the flames and covered in snow, silent.

* * *

when we talk apocalypse, we talk fires & spires   
of smoke & screams & wars  
& horrid clouds of ash & floods. 

and this is a comforting vision because it supposes   
we are all in it together. but death is mostly   
something you keep to yourself. 

in all reality, the apocalypse,   
is likely going to just be you   
alone.


End file.
